


Stepping From the Known

by katydidmischief (cassiejamie)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Kid Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-02
Updated: 2012-01-02
Packaged: 2017-10-28 18:07:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/310669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cassiejamie/pseuds/katydidmischief
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They're trapped here until they've learned their lesson, with four children (okay, two kids and two fledglings), and a promise Michael's made to Gabriel that they won't fight.  (Lucifer doesn't point out that <i>he</i> didn't promise that.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stepping From the Known

"This has to be Dad's doing," Michael growled—Dean had a chokehold going that would actually cut off some of his air flow (had he been human) and Sam was wrapped around his ankle like a damned leg warmer. Lucifer wasn't much better off, either, what with Castiel flitting around him with arms crossed, his tiny suit and trenchcoat so absolutely _comical_ on the fledgling that it was difficult to take Castiel seriously; Gabriel was simply wrapped around Lucifer from behind, tiny wings flapping happily while he stood on tiptoes to, more or less, reach Lucifer's waist.

Lucifer only closed his eyes and muttered, "Great. What precisely are we supposed to do with them?"

"We're not killing the children," Michael answered as if that was ever on the table. (Lucifer had the good grace to at least look contrite, because yeah, he might— _might_ —have been thinking about it, but it's not like he actually would have. Seriously, he's Satan and the Devil and blahblahblah: he's not a murderer.)

"Can we at least leash these two? You remember what happened when Gabriel figured out what the wings are for..."

Michael glared at his little brother. "No. Leashes. They're not animals, Lucifer—they're your brothers."

"So we're supposed to do what until Dad decides to change them back?"

"Adam says it's called babysitting."

"That sounds pleasant."

"Which doesn't mean actually sitting on them..."

Lucifer threw an irritated look at Michael and told him, "I didn't think it did. Stop assuming I'm completely incapable of... you know, this is why we always fight—you assume something and decide that I have..."

Gabriel screeched loudly, "Stop it!" and clung tighter to Lucifer, eyes tearing up as he locked his gaze on Michael. "Stop fighting. No fighting."

"You see what you did?"

"What I did?" Lucifer asked, incredulous, "All I did was speak!"

"No, you were starting a fight, and he's always hated it. Why do you think he left?" Michael reached for his youngest brother, hefting Gabriel against him. His voice was low and warm as he promised, "It's all right, Gabriel."

"You won't fight?"

Michael frowned—fighting was what he and Lucifer were destined to do, fighting was all they'd done since Father had created this planet and these people—and after a few moments glancing between each of his newfound charges, sighed. This was not going to end well, but he can't think of anything else to say, looking at Gabriel though speaking to them all, "We won't fight."

Gabriel bounced in his arms and flapped his wings, clapped his hands, and asked, "Play?"

(Lucifer was smart enough to not mention that it was here that Michael lifted his face to the Heavens and silently begged their Father to save them now. Lucifer, however, isn't sure if Michael's begging for God to save the two fully-grown Archangels from the children or the children from the Archangels.)

;;

  
Gabriel never left them alone. It was like the fledgling had decided that unless he was with them all day, everyday, they wouldn't keep Michael's promise, and he wedged himself in between the two at every chance: he held their hands when Michael forced them out for a walk, he had to be in the center on the couch, he cried nightmare and crawled into bed with them even though Lucifer had pointed out (every time) that Angels did not dream.

Dean hated Michael for some reason that no one knew. Dean wouldn't verbalize it and Michael couldn't get close enough to him to talk about it without tiny fists bashing into him. Lucifer'd tried to find out himself, purely out of curiosity, only the boy also wasn't a fan of Lucifer either, though all Dean had done to him was glare. After a while, both Michael and Lucifer backed off, and let Dean do whatever it was that would keep him calm: usually, that turned out to be Dean and Sam in the corner of the living room with some toy cars Michael had conjured for them and Cas moving between them and Gabriel.

Which bothered Michael to no end—Castiel was an Angel, his loyalty to Human and to God, but never supposed to cross that boundary to relationships—to discover the depth of the bond. He knew it was unbreakable, forged in the fires of Perdition, and that to try would decimate Castiel; to harm Sam and Dean would set Castiel against whomever the other party was and right now, that party would be Michael and Lucifer. ("But this is what was written!" Michael yelled to the nightsky the evening it hit him, what his Father was doing, "This is what we _have_ to do!")

All the same, he could feel the happiness in Castiel anytime Dean invited the fledgling to play and sometimes he even would, sitting opposite the two boys with a silver '67 Shelby in his hands while he made vroom noises to match Sam and Dean's until either Gabriel started to get upset or it was time to eat.

Sam? Sam seemed the most laidback of them all and even Lucifer cottoned on pretty quick that the boy didn't feel the need to be on guard, not with Dean there. He was a little over two and already, both Archangels could see how well and truly Sam believed his brother could save the world: he followed Dean like a shadow and emulated anything his big brother did. Which made Michael smile at old memories, thoughts of his three younger brothers springing to mind.

"Do you remember when Gabriel was first around?" Michael asked after one night where Sam was especially happy, grinning at Dean every time the older boy seemed to flag emotionally.

"I'm not sure, was he the little yellow-haired one holding onto Dad's hand? Or the little yellow-haired one holding onto Dad's knee?"

"I'm serious, Lucifer. And you were the one attached to Dad's leg."

Lucifer shrugged, staring out across the expanse of empty yard—Dad had hidden them away in some backwoods cabin, plenty of space and privacy, but still too close to civilization for Lucifer's tastes—and lifted one foot to rest against the railing. Seated, it let him push back on his chair until it was one two legs and he sat there for a while, waiting to see if Michael would go on.

He didn't.

"I remember many things, Michael."

"Okay. Then do you remember how much time he spent with Dad?"

"Of course I do. Raphael was always upset by that," Lucifer answered. He glanced at Michael as the other sat down in the rocking chair beside him.

Michael nodded, because yes, Raphael had never really bonded with Gabriel since the youngest of their brothers was almost always with their Father.

"He did it to get away from our fights. He was a fledgling and he couldn't take it, even then. When he had no clue yet what it was all leading to..."

"Michael."

There was a moment of nothing, then Michael sighed and asked, "What if we aren't supposed to have this fight, Lucifer? What if... what if something's changed and this battle doesn't have to be fought?"

"It would be nice, but you know it's begun—whatever this lesson is that Dad's trying to teach us, I'm sure it ends with one of us..."

"But what if that's it? What if the lesson is that we don't have to do this? We both go back, we keep the forces in check, we just... go on."

Lucifer's reply was soft and a little sad, and he couldn't look at Michael as he said, "You know we can't."

Michael nodded. "I know, but I can wish," he murmured.

;;

  
The days went on, a routine of eating, playing, and naps for Sam and Dean. Sometimes the rest would indulge as well, but food and sleep weren't needed for Angels, so it was rare; mostly Michael kept the children and the fledglings entertained while Lucifer spent time thinking. The latter often volunteered to do the cooking, though he thought it beneath him, since none of the brats were allowed in the kitchen when the stove was on. (He made sure that all meals came off the stove.)

"How much longer do you think He's going to keep us here?" Lucifer asked after Michael had turned the television on (their Father had left them a television; clearly he does love them because even Archangels need a break after four hours of cars crashing in new and inventive ways) and started the coffee maker.

Hey, he may not need food or drink but that doesn't mean he hasn't learned to appreciate the second best of his Father's creations.

"You know the answer." Michael leaned against the refrigerator with his arms crossed, half a smirk on his lips.

And Lucifer did: they're stuck here until they've learned whatever the lesson was that Dad was trying to teach. Until He's satisfied that both his sons have figured out the moral point of this. And yes, this... hell was designed for them and them alone; for Sam and Dean, Castiel and Gabriel, this was a break and a chance to heal after everything they've had to deal with. "Two birds, one stone," he muttered, pushing eggs around the pan.

"What?"

"Nothing."

Michael closed his eyes, pushed his head against the cool metal of the fridge. He'd figured it out a while ago, that this lesson was theirs to learn, and he didn't feel the need to discuss it with Lucifer—it'd just start a fight and Gabriel's in the next room.

"Dad," Lucifer growled and threw down the spatula he'd been using. "What does He think this will do? Does He think this will change anything?"

"I think He knows it will." Michael licked his lips, and looked to Lucifer. "Right about now, you and Gabriel were supposed to have a confrontation with some of the Pagan gods."

"Me _and_ Gabriel?"

"You're supposed to slay the Pagan gods—Baldur, Mercury, Isis, among others—and when you get to Kali, Gabriel stands against you."

"Over a girl? Really?"

"As if that's a surprise. Our brother has never learned how not to love with all he is," Michael said, "A girl, a planet, a species, it doesn't matter—he gives his heart and he gives the whole of it. And you, little brother, are supposed to stab him in it, with his own sword."

Lucifer's face grew stricken: he couldn't kill his own brother, he could not. Not Gabriel.

"You think this isn't going to change things, but it has, Lucifer. You can't tell me that you could look at him now and think that slaughter is a better option over finding some way to shove him out of the picture. Even if he held a Blade to you, tell me that you wouldn't just get your hands on him, send him away?"

"You really think I could kill him? My little brother?" Lucifer looked to Michael, eyes filled with fury. "I'm not you!"

Ah, there we are.

"You think I want this?" Michael demanded. He was taut, shoulders tensed, and he did his best to contain his sudden anger and keep his voice down lest the young ones hear. He hissed, "I don't, you ignorant prick! Dad set the order, told me that I had to! I don't want to see you dead!"

"As opposed to me who wants to see you dead?"

Michael felt the fight leave him with the same speed it'd come on. "I don't know—do you?"

"No," Lucifer answered, glancing toward the archway between the kitchen and living room. Looking to see if Gabriel would appear, but thankfully, their little brother never did. "No, I don't."

"So why are we doing this? If this is Dad giving us an out, why not take it? This is all his plan, he wrote the book, decided where we all sat on the chessboard. Maybe he's decided not yet, or maybe he knows that Sam and Dean aren't going to say yes to us. Avert it all somehow." Michael rubbed his eyes, a tic Lucifer recalled all too well from his time Before the Cage as a sign of upset. "If that is what He wants—us to back off and let it go, accept that it's not time and keep going—I am more than willing to do it, Lucifer. Would you?"

"I can't return to Heaven, Michael. I've been Banished."

"So? We could form an alliance, keep the Angels and the Demons in line..."

"And in time, you bend to His will and you kill me then? There is no story here that does not end with us against each other as long as we abide by Father's commands." Lucifer touched Michael's arm. "We could change it all though, write a new script, brother. We could reign together over this world..."

Pushing away from his place against the refrigerator, Michael says in a hard voice, "No."

"Think about it..."

"No! Lucifer, I will not rebel against Him!"

"So we condemn ourselves to the fight, then," Lucifer replied, "You going to eat today or should I just make toast for the brats?"

;;

  
Time passed and they were growing closer to the moment when they would be forced to face each other; Michael could feel the pull in his gut, the way the air moved and the tension between himself and Lucifer rose. He could feel the unease in the children, the fledglings, as if they too knew something was coming that could change everything.

Dean stopped sleeping through the night and though Michael had bonded with the boy, he still was not permitted to actually touch Dean, so it fell to Lucifer to comfort the boy. Which, to Michael's surprise, he did with arrogant ease: Dean would climb into the Archangel's lap tentatively, then boldly wrap himself into Lucifer's arms. They'd sing one hymn over and over until Dean fell asleep and when Michael asked about it, all Lucifer would say was, "Mary," with a shrug and Michael was never quite sure which Mary was being referred to.

Sam still slept; Castiel and Gabriel, despite their unease, seemed to take everything in stride (here was where their Angelic qualities came into play and Michael was grateful for it, the everlasting ability to change and adapt when needed). It was only Dean who was so effected, the bags under his eyes growing darker in spite of their efforts.

It drove Michael crazy, unsure what he should do because children weren't meant to look like this. Six-year-olds weren't supposed to look like they were already old.

"Look, I'm still trying to figure out what you want us to do, okay?" Michael whispered to the trees after lunch; inside, he could hear Dean sniffling against Lucifer's shoulder, didn't need to look back to know that Lucifer was being gripped tight around the neck by small hands. "But this... put us in a time bubble, or send us back... something. He's a little boy—this is too much for him."

All he got in return was silence.

Inside the house, Lucifer could feel his brother's tears, feel it as Michael broke down and wept. He even knew why—how he felt trapped, how he worried for his brother. How he feared he was making the wrong choice... It felt so achingly familiar, and when Dean gripped him tighter, little knees pressing into Lucifer's sides as he tried to climb further into the embrace, he knew why.

It was all he'd ever felt rolling off of Dean in the days before they'd been shoved into this arrangement. The worry and the fear, the depression, his need to keep safe what little family he had left in this world and how much it would destroy him if Sam ever did say Yes.

And though so many call him heartless and cruel, they couldn't know how much it hurt Lucifer to know that in the end, it wouldn't just be himself and Michael on that battleground, it'd be Sam and Dean and Castiel and Gabriel and all those who'd wrapped themselves around the boys and their fate.

He settled onto the couch, Dean still held protectively in his arms, and gently began to coax, "It's all right, Dean, just close your eyes."

On the floor, Gabriel pricked an ear toward them, Castiel as well, but they stayed there, watching Mickey Mouse fly off with a friend in a hot air balloon; Sam wasn't sure what to do, looking between his friends and his brother, over and over. Lucifer didn't know if he should tell the boy to climb up or lean down and pull him in, he didn't know if Sam would want to be with Dean while he cried or if Sam would get upset himself.

Michael solved it for him as he entered the living room, eyes red and he wiped his nose on his sleeve before lifting Sam into his own arms. He sat down beside Lucifer, seemingly refusing to look over until Sam reached out to set a hand on Dean's back and muttered, "Okay, D. Okay."

"This is what you hate," Michael murmured.

"Not hate," Lucifer told him, "It never was hate."

And that was when Michael understood, when he realized what it was that'd made Lucifer so willing to Fall: he was jealous of what their Father had given these beings, this right to love and be affectionate and know that it was right to. That it was expected.

For the first time, Michael realized the lies that Lucifer had told them all and how deeply it'd hurt his little brother, wanting for something their Father hadn't given them first.

"It doesn't matter," Lucifer whispered after a while. "We're bound to our paths. For better or for worse."

;;

  
They were days away, just a handful between now and the battle, and Dean wasn't sleeping, wasn't eating, wasn't talking, which made Sam frantic. He'd spend hours going between the toybox and Dean, crashing cars into each other or wrangling Castiel into helping; he'd hand Dean the remote, bringing him Sam's own share of the fruit snacks, juice, whatever he had. And when all that failed, Sam'd start pulling his hair until he cried so Dean would come over and hold him.

Michael snapped after the fourth day of it and charged into the yard, soaked through to the bone in seconds by the horrendous downpour they'd been beset with.

"Is this what You wanted?" he shouted to the sky, "For us to see what we're doing? Because You're the one who started this! You told me that I had to fight him for it to end! I don't want to do this and You know it!"

"Michael!"

He ignored his brother's cry. "I have done everything You've ever asked and I still do, and You're not even here!"

"Michael, stop!"

"I won't do it! I won't fight him—you want Paradise, come down here and make it Yourself, you bastard!"

Lucifer tackled him, wrestling with him until Michael was on his back and Lucifer's hand was over Michael's mouth. He growled, "Are you stupid? Challenging _Him_?" through the pounding rain, "Do you want to Fall?"

"I want this to be over," Michael answered when Lucifer pulled his hand away. "I want it to be done."

"Then let's end it. Here, now."

"I won't kill you, Lucifer."

"As I won't kill you."

"So what do you propose?"

Lucifer stroked a hand down Michael's cheek, water and dirt wiped away and he leaned in close. "We find a third option," he said, pressing a kiss to the patch of skin he'd cleared. "Like Dad's been telling us to."

Michael locked eyes on his brother, running a hand through the hair at Lucifer's temple. He grinned after a moment, never looking away, and snickered.

"What?"

"I think He knew that we'd come to this," Michael answered, "That Sam and Dean would be the end because they'd tell us all off, tell us no when we're so used to yes." He paused, "I think perhaps He wants things to change. That He never really meant for this to happen this way."

Lucifer nodded. He couldn't know what their Father was thinking nor what the greater plan was—that was information he hadn't been privy to in many, many years—and he didn't really care. Their Father's plans were His own and they were just there to see them through, and if He wanted them changed, if He was redirecting them all, then Michael would follow.

"What are you going to do?"

"What Father's been whispering in my ear since the day the Cage was opened."

"He Forgave you?"

The look Lucifer gave Michael was one of pure amusement. "Yes, clearly my halo is blinding you into inattention."

"He might."

"My love for Him hasn't changed, Michael, even when I languished in the Cage alone. He knew it then. He left me and still I love Him now." Lucifer settled over Michael more comfortably, his mouth so unbearably close as he balanced on elbows and combed fingers through Michael's hair. "He won't Forgive me for my sins. He won't Forgive me for the sinning I will do."

"Lucifer..."

"We have our fates, Michael, but they aren't the same ones as we've always believed." He rolled his hips against Michael's, "My big brother, so loyal and righteous, feeling lust."

"And my little brother, Fallen sinning Angel, feeling hope."

And Lucifer grinned, leaning in to lick his way into Michael's mouth, tasting the salt of tears he'd cried into the rain, knowing that this was it. There was no going back, no battle they'd have, and the Host of Heaven was going to be in turmoil when Michael returned—Raphael would be nearly psychotic in his efforts to rectify it all, Michael already knew—but it was done.

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this as a fill to a prompt on LJ's Team Free Love [New Beginnings Comment-Fic Meme](http://team-free-love.livejournal.com/269393.html), but realized three-quarters of the way through that I'd misread the prompt. :p


End file.
